Lure the Wolf
by thattookaturnforthenerdy
Summary: Matilda Baier is invited to stay at the Continental on Winston's invitation. Meeting John Wick intrigues her, but she reminds herself why love is a dangerous path for her to choose. They have no choice but to work together however, when Matilda's past threatens her life and she needs John's help to stay alive and complete a contract. *BTSUMM*
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Winston turned a sharp and caring eye on the younger man sitting in the booth across from him. He swirled the dry martini in his hand as he spoke, the stirring motion of the olives almost hypnotic.

"You're checking out tomorrow?" His cool English accent calmed the jerking knee of his guest.

"Yes, that's right." The quiet voice of his companion confirmed.

Winston harrumphed. There was not much talk that could be gotten out of John Wick these days. Two years after the ordeal with the Tarasovs, Winston noticed John becoming more of a familiar face around the Continental. When he had tried to acquire information about John's status, all he could learn was that Mr. Wick was now an executioner for hire. He'd shed the old strings of working for a mob boss, and answered only to himself now. Winston wondered if that was really what was best.

"An easy job then?" He questioned, noting the careful way John's fingers caressed his glass of bourbon.

A thin smile graced John's lips; one he quickly chased away by downing his drink.

"I'll see you around Winston." He mumbled.

Winston stared as John stood and seemed to lumber through the crowd, and out of the club. _This way of life is killing him,_ he thought with a shake of his head. He stared around him, at the legacy he had created. Underneath the grand hotel where mob enforcers, assassins, even members of the High Table itself were granted a temporary safe haven, was the Continental Club. The multi-colored lights flashed, the jazz band was on top form, and the bar was full. It was two a.m. on a Sunday – many of his patrons were celebrating a job well done.

With a wry smile, Winston took another drink of his martini and went back to looking through his ledger.

†

Matilda Baier stepped out of the yellow New York City cab, and tilted her head back to stare at the hotel. She had heard stories of its grey stone façade, the gold 'C' embroidered on the canopy – a glittering refuge; but they had been just that: stories. She was facing the hotel for the first time herself. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd made the right decision in coming here. There was nothing left for her in London. Winston was the only family she knew anymore; but she had not seen him since she was a little girl.

Taking a deep breath, Matilda took her two suitcases from the cabbie and walked up the steps to the entrance. A doorman smiled and opened the door for her, ushering her into a different world. The first thing she thought upon seeing the lobby was _elegant._ Everything here seemed to have been meticulously picked and placed to emit a sense of old-world glamour and modern charm; from the wrought iron fencing behind the reception desk, to the circular fireplaces in intervals in the walls, no detail was out of place. It all seemed to fit perfectly, an eccentric's ideal décor. She immediately felt at ease, and at home.

She walked up to the long, dark wood desk, and was greeted by the well-dressed man standing behind.

"Hello miss," his cool accent further reassuring her, as he clasped his hands in front of him, his full attention on the woman before him. "How may I be of service?"

"I've got…" Matilda dug through her handbag, looking for her invitation, "this," she finished; she produced a cream-colored paper with a gold 'C' embossed on the front. Inside the invitation was a copy of the letter she had written to Winston, and his reply. There was also a note of her reservation, stating the day and time to appear.

She handed it over and allowed the man to look through it a moment before he handed it back, typing something into his computer. His brow rose as he saw the manager's signature on the electronic reservation form.

"And how long will you be staying with us, Miss Baier?" The hotel manager asked as he clicked a few more keys on his computer.

"I hope not too long." She replied, her thin Southern accent covering her words like honey on toast.

Matilda had planned to stay here while she looked for a more permanent residence, but she had been wholly unprepared for the cost of New York living. The last year had been more a matter of spending money, and being unable to earn any. This had left her nearly penniless and almost no gold. Winston had charitably offered her a free stay, but she had insisted on owing him a Marker. Even though he was like a father to her she still had her pride. He had begrudgingly agreed, but insisted she stay as long as she needed to get comfortable. This would allow her to build her account, and her reputation.

The receptionist smiled as he continued to stare at his screen. "And this is your first visit to The Continental?"

"It is." She confirmed.

He pulled out a few informational packets and laid them across the desk.

"Just some light reading, to help get you started." He paused a moment before collecting them into a neat pile and handing them across the desk to her. "The packet on top you may find most helpful: it is a map of our facilities."

"Thank you very kindly Charon." Winston said, coming up silently behind Matilda. He placed a light hand on the young woman's shoulder, not quite believing that she was here.

Charon inclined his head and turned to grab Miss Baier's key. "It appears you are in room 1002." He looked hesitantly in the manager's direction.

"It's the only other room on the tenth floor Miss Baier, apart from mine." Winston explained.

"Ahh." She understood now why the manager had seemed reticent to give her the key. She guessed that he placed the owner of the Continental in the highest regard, as did she.

"You have nothing to worry about Mr. Charon; I'll take good care of him." Matilda assured with a smile. Charon did not look very comforted by her bemused grin.

"Please, let me escort you." Winston took one of her suitcases and ushered her towards the elevator. He turned only to hand Charon a gold coin.

The black doors slid closed, leaving the two alone in the gilded box. The silence that filled the lift was not awkward, but strained. The last time Winston had seen Matilda had been right before he – Winston shook his head. It would not do to dwell on things that lay in the past. It had been a number of years, and the girl he often called a daughter had certainly grown. He hadn't been surprised when he heard occasional London visitors whisper her name; growing up around the business often meant it became a family affair. And Matilda's father had been extraordinary.

"I'm very glad to have you here in town." He said, looking to fill the quiet. "We'll be able to catch up now."

Winston felt a small fluttering of happiness when she smiled, and flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder.

"I would like that very much." She said, looking over at him.

"The tenth floor dear." He announced as the doors opened with a shrill 'ding'. "Your room is here, mine just a bit further down the hall, should you require anything."

Matilda took her case from Winston and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you very much; you've been much kinder than I had any right to expect."

Winston acknowledged the fragment of years-old shame as it passed through. "My dear, the friendship your father and I had I shall _gladly_ extend to you. I still consider you family, that much has not changed. Please ring Charon or any of the staff should you require anything. The Continental is here to serve your needs as long as you obey the rules."

Adopted family or not, the rules were important; if Winston let someone break the rules, soon everyone would; the world that he and Richard Baier had so carefully cultivated, would descend once more into chaos and madness.

The young woman nodded her head, understanding. "No business conducted on hotel grounds." She replied softly.

"Is the most important." Winston affirmed with a nod. "Read the pamphlets; you'll find them helpful."

She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Thank you, il duca."

He bristled visibly at the old name, memories of his youth surfacing. He turned from her, covering his shaking right hand with his left.

"You are your father's daughter." He said.

"I saw you more than my own father, Winston. You had just as much an effect on my childhood as he." She reminded him.

Winston nodded, memories dragging to the surface. He often tried to forget his past, back when he had been another pawn in the game of the New York elite.

"You are right, my dear." He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, firm and steady. "One of these nights we'll get together down at the Club and talk." Matilda nodded her head, understanding that this was goodbye for the night.

"Goodnight Winston." She said, turning to unlock her door.

"Cara ragazza, I'm very sorry for your loss." He whispered over her shoulder. By the tightening of her muscles, he knew that she had heard. She closed the door with a soft 'click'.

Winston sighed, stepping down the hall to his room. He heard the telephone ringing, and management was always in.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Matilda's alarm went off shrilly at six a.m. She groaned and rolled over; tempted to close her eyes and head back to bed. The king-sized bed was more inviting than it had any right to be, her comforter wrapping her in a warm cocoon. However, she knew if she gave up her morning workout routine she would soon find herself off the rails completely. Back in London, her exercises had been the only thing keeping her sane. Begrudgingly, she got up and forced herself to put on her yoga pants and a long-sleeved workout top.

She quickly brushed her teeth and put on her socks and sneakers, just remembering to grab her room key before she left. In the elevator on her way down to the second floor she slipped it into her sports bra; her pants had no pockets, and well, and girl had to make do. The button for the second floor lit up and he headed down. In a normal hotel gym, Matilda might have been the only one awake at this hour. However, this was a hotel made up of the world's best assassins.

The only open machine was a treadmill; her running partner was a man wearing running shorts and a tight black shirt. He had long hair, dark brown that came to the middle of his neck. Matilda shrugged, and taking her water bottle and towel, stepped up onto the machine. She shot her running partner a shy smile before turning on her iPod; she slipped her headphones on and turned on _Here I Go Again_ by Whitesnake, and began with a light jog.

†

John woke up, a few short hours after heading to bed. He had not slept well, tossing and turning throughout the night, and he knew a quick workout and a coffee was the only way he would be able to get through a full day. He still had a drive home ahead of him, and a night full of looking his newest target file.

It was a different kind of freedom, being able to pick whom he targeted. He had total control over what jobs he took and how they were handled. John was also better paid for his time and effort. The currency of the underworld was gold, but John was a man of the real world too. He always insisted on half in cash and half in gold, meaning he had more than a small fortune in both.

Ever since Helen had died, and he had killed Iosef in revenge for the loss of Daisy, something in John had gone. His desire to live had left and he spent his days wandering like a ghost. He knew Winston was concerned, had seen Charon looking longer at him than usual. John did not have the energy to care. He was still here, functioning as regularly as he knew how. For John, this was enough. It was all he could be anymore.

Tiredly, he put an Under Armour shirt on and some running shorts, heading down to the gym. He knew that at this time of morning, it would be packed, and that he would just have to grab a free machine. When he arrived, there were only two treadmills side by side. He gave a curt nod to the man on his left, and started up his machine.

His calves screamed at him after a few minutes of working them; he had been running all weekend. He pushed himself harder, hoping it would help him sleep better that evening. He could afford to take a few days off work to let his legs recover this week.

John had been there for about twenty minutes when the treadmill on his right suddenly started up. He glanced over, startled, to see a young woman putting headphones on. She started slow, but over the next few minutes had worked up to a well-paced jog. Wick had a difficult time keeping his eyes on the monitor in front of him. He had never seen her at the Continental before, and from the looks Mr. Taylor, on her right, was giving her, he had never seen her either. A new guest.

The underworld was a large place, but the pool of people allowed to stay at a Continental was small. New patrons were rare. Only a few among the current clientele were extended the power to invite one assassin into the fold. Even John, one of Winston's favorites, didn't have the right. Marcus had received an invitation, to extend on his behalf, shortly before he was killed. _For someone so young to be a guest, she must know powerful people. Or she got someone's attention,_ John thought.

He guessed that she couldn't be any older than twenty-five. He supposed there was always the old 'grandfather' rule. It was one of the lesser known rights of the Continental and its patronage. For anyone able to claim twenty-five years of Hotel membership, their children who took on the business automatically received an invitation. Even though the Continental had been established fifty years ago, John knew of no one who had been grandfathered in. Most assassins didn't have children, or didn't live long enough to earn them the right.

He stayed on the treadmill longer than he intended, occasionally looking over to see the girl's calf muscles working, or the beads of sweat working their way down her alabaster skin. Halfway through her workout she pulled a rubber band off her wrist and pulled back her light red hair.

John shook his head, and wiped his face with his towel. This was the first time he had really looked at a woman since Helen, and he felt a hot flash of shame deep in his gut that she was so much younger. Helen had been his age, appropriate; looking at this girl made him feel dirty.

Powering down his machine, he noted that he had only run three miles in the forty minutes he had been on it. Even with his legs on fire the whole time, he should have done better. _Just the machine John_ , he told himself. _Just not used to these new machines yet, or they are not calibrated correctly. Got nothing to do with the new redhead._

He loped to the other side of the room to do some free weights with Mr. Taylor. The man was older than John by a few years, but the two had known each other for a long time. Brian Taylor was something of an enigma. Most assassins were not able to live comfortable lives outside of the underworld. Brian however, had a partner, Julian, and a set of seven year old twin girls who lived in Jersey.

"John Wick." Brian smiled as the younger man came to join him. "Boy it has been a while." He hugged the man, not caring that they were both sweating from their respective workouts.

"Brian, how have you been?" John asked, as soon as he was free.

"I've been doing alright. Julian's good and the kids are good; still have the same job, working for the big man."

"Caspar? He's still working?" John shook his head, picking up a dumbbell and working his left arm. "I heard he was grooming his son to take over?"

"Yeah, Lauren Caspar." Brian worked his way into warrior three pose, breathing deeply while he exercised. "Just a few years ago, the boy was drinking every night, gambling, and was taking pleasure in whatever company he could find. He wasn't any good to anyone, let alone his father. He sent Lauren away for two years and now the boy is making Esquire and People magazines most eligible bachelor's lists. He's doing better than his father could have hoped. Lauren's really cleaned up his act." Brian sounded impressed, and pleased that he could finally be proud of his future boss.

"I'm sure the CEO of Caspar Financial is very proud." John said.

Caspar and his family were an outlier to the regular workings of John's world. They were an affluent Wall Street family, and had much pull amongst the New York social elite. Very few people knew of Mr. Caspar's shady dealings. Only those he paid, and paid to have killed. Brian had been on his security detail, and private hit squad, for years.

John had made sure to avoid the Caspar's, never taking a job from him or any of his top known associates. It was dangerous enough working with criminals; working for a man so influential in both worlds seemed the wrong way to go.

Brian was about to affirm, when his attention was diverted elsewhere. Directly across from them was a tumbling mat, though the regulars hardly ever used it. Few of them knew any real gymnastics, and the ones that did were too old to practice properly. But standing at the edge of the blue mat, was their new ginger mystery.

"Do you know who she is?" Brian asked, speaking quietly.

John shook his head. "No idea." He watched as she stretched her arms and legs, the headphones cast aside for now. "Who do you reckon let her in?"

Brian shrugged. "There's maybe three of us now that could, ever since Marcus and Bradley passed." He seemed to think on it for a moment. "I know it was not Rick; he does not know anyone that attractive."

John's head turned to stare at his friend, surprised at his candor.

"What?" He turned an amused eye towards his young friend. "I may be an old queen, but I know beauty when I see it."

John shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. The urge to laugh with Brian came and went, as the young woman stepped onto the mat and began a series of somersaults. Once at the other end, she did a few backflips before twisting into a double back handspring.

While uncommon, Brian noticed that he and John were the only ones in the exercise room who had taken an interest in her. He nudged John to get the man's attention back.

"I know you are checking out today, but checkout time is eleven a.m.; tell me you are staying for breakfast?"

John thought for a moment, switching the weight to his right hand. "I had not thought about it. Maybe."

"I'll save you a seat in the lounge." Brian said with a smile.

John shook his head, but was smiling. "Let me finish here, and shower. I'll meet you at eight?"

"Sounds agreeable." Brian said, walking over to a weight machine. "I'll see you in an hour."

John finished his workout a short while later and left the exercise room, toweling off his sweaty neck and face as he walked. As he brought the towel down, he noticed a certain redhead was just ahead of him in the hall. If he were lucky, they would be taking the elevator together. He was a few steps behind her, and just in time as the elevator doors closed.

He punched the button for the eighth floor; his brow rose when he saw the lit '10' button. Only Winston stayed on the tenth floor, and he was not aware of the floor having another room.

Curiosity won, and John couldn't stop the words coming from his mouth. "Are you staying with Winston?"

†

Matilda had been aware of John. Vaguely mindful of his reputation, but more so his presence in the gym. She had not known it was _the_ John. Not until she had been on the mat and heard the other man talking to him. But how could she have ignored the fit older man running next to her, his hair framing his face in a distracted, yet beautiful way? But she knew that getting involved with anyone, imaginary or not, was dangerous. Her heart was still paying the consequences for London.

Seeing him next to her in the elevator, she felt her heart patter, as it had not in the past year. She resigned herself to ignoring him, taking half-stolen glances for her own remembrance.

"Are you staying with Winston?" The question was innocent, and unintended. Matilda could tell the way a flash of color lit his cheeks. He turned forward, not expecting an answer.

It seemed that there was something about her that made John Wick feel he could be vulnerable in this murderer's playground.

"I'm staying in the other room on the tenth floor." She replied coolly.

John turned towards her, mild surprise written in his muddy brown eyes. He extended his hand to her. "I'm John Wick."

Matilda grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Matilda Baier," she said with a hint of a smile. "It's nice to meet you Mr. Wick." His brow rose at her introduction, but she wasn't surprised. Everyone knew the name Baier.

"John, please." He told her, his gruff voice filling the small space. "Is this your first visit?"

"It is yes; I'm moving to New York from London." She said, dropping her hand back to her side. "I've never been to New York before so I'm hoping to have some time to familiarize myself with the city."

A thin smile tugged at John's lips. "The Continental Club is the best place to start; you will learn quickly who good company is, and who to avoid."

A frown tugged at Matilda's lips. "I'm curious, how it works. You spend Friday afternoon with a man having drinks, and when Monday morning rolls around, if his name comes up, you kill him. No matter the illusion of intimacy this hotel creates, it is just that – an illusion. We'll all go back to trying to kill one another if the money's good enough."

John straightened at her assessment. "Most of us, yes; some of us form friendships here. Even criminals need companionship." He answered, turning his head down to look at her.

"Which one are you?" She asked, right as the elevator announced they had arrived at his floor.

John just smiled, said, "It was nice to meet you Miss Baier," and exited the elevator.

Matilda shifted her weight onto one hip and held her elbows in her hands, grinning. John Wick seemed more different than the stories she had heard. She was intrigued to see if business would have him calling again.

With a childish grin, Matilda unlocked her door and set about preparing herself for breakfast.


End file.
